fkljglhk
by chookachooka
Summary: fgl;dfjhl;kfg
1. Chapter 1

_The past, like all things, leaves a mark that lasts forever on our countenance._

_I had never known that such a pain could resurface in the masses._

_A pain that felt like being strangled by one thousand roses entwined in chains._

**Chapter One**

_Still Bourne_

Sunrise collapsed across the sky, splaying it's almost surreal colours across the borders. The vivid beauty lurking outside a small apartment building's windows was glorious to say the least: an awkward silence that seemed out of place in the bustling suburbia coated the air with stillness, only to be shattered slightly by small serenades sung by feathered creatures. Yes, it truly would have been a sight, if the only awake resident of the high-rise could tear his eyes from the computer screen.

The young male of about nineteen languidly ran his long, pale fingers through his white, almost peroxide mottled hair. It spiked at awkward angles due to the constant taming, and headwear that he sported. Metallic hoops and studs lacing his ears glimmered in the dark. Crimson orbs lined with insomnia induced bags were skewed into sheer hate as he gushed into the headset sitting comfortably in its respective spot.

"Okay you little shit, what's your problem?" growled the teenager into the microphone, bashing at the keys of his lap top.

"Hey, don't complain just because I'm owning you," came a young voice through the headphones. It cockily ignited the man's anger to a larger extent. A female voice rang through the background, an argument seemingly taking place. Dejectedly, the child's voice returned. "Alright, I have to go."

"How old are you, twelve?" The immature teen smirked – however, his daunting looks were in vain as his opponent couldn't see him.

"Yeah, who else plays these games?" The kid asked seriously. "How old are you?"

Taken aback, the man's tone unevenly snapped back in response. "I'm fourteen, and my mum lets me stay up as late as I want?"

In order the end the confrontation, the young man quickly ended the conversation and threw his headset off. Disoriented steps led him to the kitchen, the grandfather clock that belonged to his foster parents clipping the airwaves, ringing as it had progressed to five o'clock. As he opened the fridge door, light streamed from within, outlining a shadow belonging to another figure.

"I heard you online again Dakota," a male voice wrapped around the fridge raider's attention. "If you're going to be arguing with seven year olds or whatever, at least have some courtesy for others who are trying to sleep."

"Whatever," came the man labelled Dakota's response, "Maybe you can eventually program a virus to really cause that kid some stress," he grimaced mockingly before continuing, "We'd have to be up soon anyway, so stop complaining – one would think you actually didn't like your human alarm clock."

A smile briefed his face before his eyes settled upon his foster brother, Hiyote. The man before him was the same age, being born only two days before. It was really a coincidence – Dakota had been adopted into their family at the age of twelve, and had formed an incredible attachment to his pseudo-sibling. Brown hair, unlike Dakota's white, sat smoothly across his head and swept against his soft blue eyes. Mock-anger graced his features, which like Dakota's could be considered above average.

A horn sounded outside the block causing both heads to whip to the front door. Hiyote's unimpressed voice resounded through the room, eventually digging into Dakota's line of thought. "You going to school today in your boxers?"

A quick survey of his body told Dakota that he was not, in fact, in his school uniform. The carpool belonging to their friend, Netsuke, invaded the air, each individual ring of noise feeling like a physical shove. Dakota (after brushing his teeth) clothed himself unconventionally; the school shirt left untucked and crumpled, his tie strewn around his neck, barely tied. Pants were pants, and luckily for Dakota his shoes sported no laces. He had only learnt to tie them in the cutesy, time consuming bunny ears way, and from the violent means that Netsuke had selected to pound unmercifully against the vehicle, he didn't have time for it anyway.

Picking up his bag on the way out, Dakota greeted Netsuke with a half-assed smile. The two really didn't get along at all, but he was their only way to university: all three were in their second year. Dakota was studying music; Hiyote was learning Information Technology and no one really bothered to associate themselves with Netsuke. Dakota was sure he had the fiery nuisance at least five times before, but each time it had slipped through his mind.

"Dakota, looking shit, as usual," Netsuke complimented as the said boy slammed the door shut and fastened his seat belt.

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, the ashen haired boy just exhaled in response. Netsuke was decent looking, though nothing special. He was the kind of guy who woke up hours in advance just to apply his assortments of skin creams and do his hair and other girly shit. A real man spent his mornings abusing pre-teens that were at least seven years younger than them, and then lie about their age. Dakota grimaced at the thought as the stop of the car at traffic lights chased it away.


	2. Chapter 2

Chains wrapped tightly around skin – their restraint binding their victim. He panted heavily through the pain, wincing slightly as the metallic grip increased. The collar situated around his neck bore countless links, like a dog that had many controllers. Wincing, the honey-blond haired male pulled at the chains, his garnet blood running through the links, tainting their silver and gold hues. Each binding chain it crossed was marred simmered in agony as each breath that collapsed from the man's lips produced another wave of the cherry liquid, the thick fluid slipping down his lips and falling against the chain's origins.

A chime belonging to an aged grandfather clock ignited the airwaves, disintegrating the bonds into shards of glass at the young man's touch. Breathing heavily, he sat in the perpetual darkness that could only be met in one's dreams. The figure sat pathetically in the dark, too weak to call for any sort of assistance, but he knew better than anyone that no one could reach him here. Rubbing shaky hands around the backside of his neck, the man fell backwards, shards of glass sticking into his bare skin. The moving darkness winced again, only becoming more aware that his physical embodiment was dreaming these same events repeatedly – in time, I realised that this man suffering was me.

_Je me sens comme je suis emballé dans un millier de chaînes entrelacé avec les roses. _

**Chapter One**

_Still Bourne_

The cherry blossoms bloomed late this year. Usually the latest they bloom is May, but the soft flowers didn't consider gracing mortals with their diviner beauty until the end of the school year, July. I had always enjoyed their solemn beauty as branches dipped their weighted branches in the lakes like a child dipping their toes, shivering slightly from the wind that would force the cold to shake the weightless buds from their stems and drift to the rim of the water like an origami lotus. The water itself sparkled as though hidden relics like diamonds were hidden beneath the surface, however on closer inspection anyone actually peering into the liquid would notice it's crystal lucid nature, as though in its aesthetic nature, had obtained the countenance of the treasure's thought to be concealed within.

I had never attended a _hanami _event before, having just opted to watch the more confident members of society dwell under the rare daintiness that the cherry blossoms held; the even more traditional members amongst the confident of modern day Japan wore _kimono_ and _yukatta. _However this year my Japanese History class opted to attend the pseudo-summer event, under supervision of our teacher, Shimoyake-sensei. The lesson certainly wasn't compulsory to the degree that other students felt as though it was a chore – in fact, most seemed to view it as a day off, however they didn't seem to experience this new, awkward feeling that I was. It was probably because they had attended these events since childhood whereas I had never summoned the want to be around people, instead just to watch from afar.

Walking over to the water's edge, though not close enough to risk falling in, I peered at my reflection. My name is Meino Shikatsu, and my green orbs stare clearly back at me from the water's surface. Honey-blond hair sits a little disoriented as though the wind had embodied hands and skillfully designed a hairstyle that was neither intentional nor fashionable, really. Slightly tanned skin cloaks my body, though my features are more westernized – wider, rounder eyes, and lacking in any hints of natural black hair. My lineage obviously wasn't fully Japanese; however I neither saw it as a blessing or a curse. Gaining a bit of confidence, I leaned over carefully and plucked a cherry blossom that had skittered across the water's edge, and held it as though it were glass.

I had had various foster families, and eventually at the age of seventeen I had moved out with my current family's permission. They were small and often struggled for money, however they were kind people, and wished me well into the world. They had three other children after all who were young and needed the attention – even if I would have been helping but watching them on occasion, I would most likely get in the way and cost them more than they would be earning. Even though they saw this idea differently, I was still a teenager and wanted the independence. Releasing the flower back on the surface of the lake, I raised myself back to my feet, taking a few steps back to admire the scene.

Turning to my left side, a little away sat Shimoyake-sensei taking pictures of the class and various events that were taking place around the area. He must have noticed me watching him, for he turned his gaze to me and smiled softly. "Shikatsu-kun, would you like to be in some of the photographs?"

Shimoyake-sensei was young for a teacher, about twenty-two. He was pale, had wide cerulean eyes and white, peroxide hair. He was usually dressed smartly, though today he chose to attend in a yukatta, like he had encouraged the rest of the class and most had obliged of their free-will. He was on friendly terms with his students, mostly because we were close to his age I guess – but I really couldn't see any other reason he had for calling his students by their first names, and no one really had a problem with it.

"I don't really like photos," I mumbled a little embarrassed, however, a flash had already invaded my vision with lack of permission. It was an awkward moment when I realized he had already taken the shot, I stared at him with questioning eyes and his answer was simply an expression of mock-shock. "I guess my finger slipped. And besides, the picture wasn't of you: it was just in that general direction; you just happened to be in the way, _ne_."


End file.
